


house calls

by Archaeopteryx



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Multi, Other, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeopteryx/pseuds/Archaeopteryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Prompt, Hawke/Anders/Justice: ‘I can only assume we’re both missing part of the story here, because that was supposed to kill you.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	house calls

It was supposed to be a routine job.

The target was a healer, for fuck’s sake. Privately Hawke wondered why someone had called a hit on a broke apostate refugee, but that wasn’t really their place to question: someone wanted him dead, and was willing to pay good money for it to happen.

Even more privately, they hated the idea of taking someone so important out of Darktown. If not for the luck of family history and their handiness with a knife, that was where they’d be, after all. But it was their handiness with a knife that kept them and their family _out_ of Darktown, and more than anything they hated the thought of a dissatisfied client targeting their family – and the client, via message, had heavily implied that if this healer didn’t turn up dead, Bethany would get a visit from some “knights” in shiny armor.

So.

They waited for nightfall, then affected a wet cough, easy in Darktown’s moldy, chill, sewage-stinking damp. Stumbled in the door to the clinic, hunched over and staggering, wheezing ‘ _help_ ’ between hacking coughs.

The healer rose from a makeshift desk – Maker, did the man sleep? – and all but sprinted to Hawke’s side, beginning some question they didn’t bother to hear. They swayed, crashing dramatically into the healer’s side, palmed their knife and slipped it up between his ribs, then ducked away quickly so the falling healer wouldn’t drag them down.

Except he didn’t fall.

He blinked at them – in the “I can’t believe you tried that” way, not even in the “I haven’t realized I’m dead” way – and all of a sudden lit up blue.

“ _Whatthefuck_ ,” said Hawke, and bolted.

Or tried to – the “healer”, or whatever he was, lashed out with his staff with terrifying speed, catching them behind one knee; they landed on their back with a rush of breath, their head bounced off the packed dirt with a starburst, and by the time they could see and breathe again there was a boot pressing down on their sternum, and the bladed end of a staff at the base of their throat.

“Why have you attacked us,” said the healer – no, that wasn’t the healer, that wasn’t _human_ , their voice made Hawke’s sinuses itch and scalp prickle like the approach of a thunderstorm. Was this why Hawke was getting paid? The boot pressed down a little heavier, shit, shit, shit, they needed to pull themself together fast.

“I think we’re both missing something,” their mouth said without their input, “because that was supposed to kill you.” 

“It failed,” said whatever-they-were. Oh, fuck, Hawke’s knife was still in their side; a spreading patch of black blood soaked into their coat but they didn’t seem to care, or even notice. “Who sent you?” 

“I don’t know,” said Hawke, and yelped when the being leaned harder on their chest. “I don’t! Hired assassins don’t exactly get invited over to meet the kids!” The blade pressed down against their throat; panicking, they blurted out, “ _I have a sister she’s all I have the Templars will get her if I don’t do this job._ ” 

That bought them a few seconds, at least, in which to think, _'I have a sister’? really, Hawke, how much more pathetic can you get?_

The staff left their throat. The being narrowed their eyes – glowing, blank and blue, the look made the hair prickle down the back of Hawke’s neck. “Your sister is a mage.” 

“Yes,” Hawke gasped. “I don’t know who hired me but they threatened her if I didn’t take the job – if I turn up dead, they might leave her alone, but I’d rather it not come to that!” 

“Hmm.” Absentmindedly – that should be in their heart! – the being reached across their chest with their free hand, and yanked out Hawke’s knife, tossing it aside. Magic glowed around the stab wound, though it looked more like the crackle of lightning than any healing Hawke had ever seen. “You speak the truth,” said the being – and vanished, or at least the glow did, leaving behind only a perfectly human-looking healer. 

What the fuck. 

“Well,” said the healer, his voice perfectly normal except for the odd Anders-Fereldan blended accent, “that was … bracing. Justice believes you, so I will, and I wouldn’t consign any mage to the Gallows if I could avoid it.” His teeth flashed. “What was that you said … ?” 

The staff-tip wavered, the blade flashing yellow in the lantern’s light. “Wait – ” Panic had the kernel of an idea – “wait, stop, listen, nobody has to die!” 

“Oh, it’s a different tune when you’re the one in danger,” said the healer, but the staff-tip leaned away. “I’m listening.” 

The adrenaline faded fast, leaving Hawke distant and fuzzy-headed; they struggled to get the words out past the ringing in their ears. “Whoever hired me – kill me, they’ll just send someone else. So there’s – whatever the fuck happened there – but then they get smart, then they take a hostage or something, find a way to make you let them kill you. So – so – if we can find them, fast, and kill them, then you’re safe, I’m safe, my sister’s safe, it’s all fine.” 

The healer cocked his head. “It’s not exactly no one has to die, but that’s a point.” Hawke went limp, chest heaving; thank you, Maker or whoever was listening. “How do I know you won’t kill me if I let you go?” 

“After that? You think I’d try?” 

The healer laughed – probably a good sign, as far as Hawke’s life expectancy was concerned. “Point again.” He stepped aside, letting Hawke pick themself up. He did not offer his hand. Fair enough. Hawke shook their head, brushing off their leathers, and flicked a glance towards their knife; probably best not to go for that, yet. 

"You know,” they said, flashing a grin – they could do ‘toothy menace’ too, when they wanted – “I like this plan a lot better. I am Fereldan, you know. And I’d much rather kill someone who deserves it. And they threatened my sister. Anders, right?” 

The healer placed a hand over his heart, exaggerated. “You know my name! That’s more than I can say for some Templars I’ve run into.” 

“Well, I’m glad I can at least pass that low bar,” said Hawke dryly. Their fingers twitched, wanting movement or something to hold. They stuck out their hand for lack of anything else, and to their surprise, Anders took it. His grip was strong, his hand dry and steady and warm; Hawke almost expected to feel some trace of the other being – Justice? – but there was only the slight tingle, like static, same as when they touched Bethany or Dad. “I’m Hawke. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Hawke,” said Anders. _Shit_ , Hawke really liked the sound of their name in his voice. This had better be leftover adrenaline. Anders’s mouth twisted, one side quirking up into an odd little half-grin – _double shit_. “Can’t say the same, but I’ll let you make it up to me.” 

_Triple shit._


End file.
